


Frenemies

by madridog (Cirilla9)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Arguing, Crack, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, El Clásico, F/M, Family, M/M, Men with kids, Mild Language, Partying, Reconciliation, Sergio's A+ parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 06:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16634909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/madridog
Summary: Sometimes someone that annoys you the most is also the best consoler.(Set after 5:1 Real loss to Barca)





	Frenemies

He couldn’t help the grin plastered to his face and eyes twinkling in joy as he looked around, seeing the reflection of this same elation on his teammates’ faces, hearing the victorious roar of the fans. He raised his hand once more, all five fingers spread wide, one for each goal and the thunder from the stands intensified.

It was total and thorough victory. It was perfect, it was… Geri’s smile faltered as he picked up the words from the audience. First single voices, then a regular chant of “hijo de puta…”, “Sergio Ramos”, as if calling the Madrid defender names was just another slogan of celebration.

Geri looked around in search for Sergio and saw him standing rather close, looking completely broken by the loss. The ever present merry smile was gone, although he didn’t cry also, he didn’t shout back at the abusers, didn’t even show them any gestures in return. His face was completely under control, no tears, no angry snarl as he stood there on the pitch, surrounded by thousands hating him. That lack of visible emotions was precisely what concerned Geri.

He frowned as the audience did not stop the chant, far from it, the volume and number of shouts seemed to increase. So he raised his hand again but this time not in the honor of victory, not to spur them further on, but to wag his finger at them, hoping that it would diminish the mistreatment. And indeed, after a while the chants quieted, then mostly stopped, only some most acrimonious fans kept shouting solitary curses.

But now Geri’s fantastic mood was tainted.

He reached toward Sergio but his national teammate shrugged off his touch before Geri could fully clasp his shoulder and moved out of his reach. Geri considered following him to locker rooms but then a few of his blaugrana wearing friends came closer and he smiled again in answer to their beams, five goals showing Ramos to further place of his mind.

 

***

Sergio, unusually for him, emerged from the locker room first and strode through the parking lot, wanting nothing more than to take some back seat at the bus, hole up there and listen to flamenco music all the way back to Madrid.

He was prepared to pass by any eventual paparazzi that may hide there, hunting for news; though he didn’t expect Geri to be the one waiting for him.

“Sese!”

The shining blue eyes looked at him from the giant’s stupidly happy form, the annoying smile split his face nearly in two, the same one that he featured on the pitch a moment ago after their devastating loss.

“Fuck off, Pique. Shouldn’t you be heading to a victory celebration? Or tweeting about the match already?”

“Leo will pick me up after driving Thiago home,” Geri waved him off.  “Well, he’s obviously not driving himself with the hand… Anyway, I wanted to catch you because-”

Sergio, barely listening to him, continued on his way toward the bus but when he was about to step in into the car, Gerard’s larger silhouette blocked the door.

“I wanted to… uh, the fans shouldn’t chant what they did. That was pretty low. I- Is there something I can do?”

“You can get off my way.”

“I know you’re angry, it’s understandable after they-“

“I’m not fucking angry at them!”

The shout echoed on the empty parking.

“Yeah, I can hear that.”

Sergio stepped to the side to pass Geri but Geri mirrored his movement and ended up still effectively blocking him.

“I would be angry too if they said such things about me.”

“I don’t care for what they say! They’re Culés, they will always hate me and call me names. It’s just the way it is. Just like you will always be booed at Bernabéu!”

Something like hurt reflected in Geri’s eyes but it didn’t feel  bad at that moment. It felt good to lash out at someone. Sergio pushed him off the way and this time Geri let him pass. In the bus he chose the seat at the far end, pulling his headphones on.

 

***

All was almost perfectly back to his usual smug state of mind, the awareness of the loss still there but shoved under the firm resolve that the next time will be better – until his son’s voice didn’t force him out of bed and Pilar’s arms.

“Daddy, daddy, what ‘puta’ means?”

“What?” Sergio asked, rubbing his eyes and untangling himself from already drowsing Pilar. “Where did you hear the word?”

“I’ll show you,” Sergio Jr. tugged at his hand earnestly, “come on.”

Sergio reluctantly followed him to the destination place which turned out to be one of their living rooms, with Marco sitting there too on the floor before the opened laptop, currently displaying the highlights from the damned loss. Sergio awoken completely in one moment, rushing to turn off the sound despite his sons’ protests.

“That’s a very nasty word you’re using toward someone that you don’t like or that annoyed you,” he explained.

“So I can use this when Marco takes my toys?” Sergio Jr. wondered, then pointed an accusatory finger at his brother, trying out the idea at once, “hijo de-”

“No!” Sergio clasped his son’s mouth. He forced himself to soften his voice but he still spoke in a serious tone, feeling alarmingly like his own father years ago. “That is a bad word and I don’t want you to use it at all. Besides that would offend not only your brother but your mum too. You don’t want to be rude to her, to make her sad, do you?”

Sergio Jr. shook his head guiltily.

“So you won’t use that word?” Sergio looked his son in the eyes.

“I won’t.”

Sergio smiled at him then.

“That’s my boy,” he rubbed his short fair hair.

Then he stood up, taking the laptop with him above the range of his children.

“Dad, we were watching the match!”

“There is nothing interesting to watch. We lost. Go play with something else you two.” He rubbed Marco’s hair as well, then took care of the laptop content, closing down the window that presently showed Pique’s infuriating grin.

He was about to leave his sons - already engaged fully into their electric toy cars race - and return to Pilar in bed, when the perfectly caring for his privacy Google, totally not spying on their users showed him some related results. He clicked in one.

It wasn’t long before he was sitting on the sofa – raising legs when Marco or Sergio Jr. were about to bump a toy car into his feet – and drowning into the sea of memes, pictures and conspiracy theories. Culés and Madridistas were fighting in comments under every post, offending players, each other and accusing every FIFA board member of corruption. Mostly it was the usual stuff but one photo caught Sergio’s attention. It was Pique, standing behind his back where he couldn’t see him and wagging finger at the stands with a disapproving mien.

 

***

Only after about fifth vibration Geri realized his phone was ringing. He clumsily pulled it off his pocket, was about to answer, then frowned at the number.

“What? Shakira’s calling you home already?” Rakitić mocked.

Geri ignored him and scrambled for the green phone icon, standing up and going, just a bit wavy, further from the noise.

“What do you want?” he slurred, not waiting for Ramos to start, “I listened to your advice and went to celebratory party. You hear that?” he fumbled some more with the blinding screen until he found a video conversation option. “Look at that, we’re drinking five shots each toast. Each one of us. Five,” Geri showed his hand with five spread fingers to the screen.

Ramos on the other side looked rallied up and generally wore an expression Geri often saw at him – he was the master of provoking it – Sergio’s jaw working when he wanted to lash out at him but was fighting with himself hard to keep it in.

“Geri, I’m calling because-”

“Oh, we’re at the pet names now? What happened to Pique, Ramos?”

“Can you move somewhere else? I can’t hear you over that damned noise.”

Geri stumbled to the nearest doors which turned out to be a toilet. Party music deafened when he closed the doors behind himself.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Geri, listen, I’m sorry.”

“What?” He must be more drunk than he thought, Sergio Ramos didn’t apologize. Not without being forced to do so by his PR staff.

“I… acted like a dick before.”

Geri listened with growing astonishment. But he wasn’t about to deny.

“You are often a dick.”

Annoyance flicked through Ramos’ miniature face on the screen but he kept on remarkably calm.

“All I wanted to say is that I was mad at myself, for not defending better, for being there yet allowing all five goals go through… It had nothing to do with you, you were just the opportune way of letting out some anger. And you didn’t deserve it, I saw what you did on the Internet... So sorry about that.”

“Uh, it’s okay I guess,” Geri said after a moment when he realized the silence means Sergio is waiting for his answer.

Sergio smiled.

“And thanks for taking my side on the pitch after the game.”

Geri stared at the phone long after the call was hanged, trying to figure out if the conversation actually happened.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okey, it seems naïve and silly at times, I know, but I wanted Sese to realize he can be a dick and don’t make Luka point it out to him, just to not fall into my own clichés xd
> 
> Also, name repetitions are driving me crazy but what can I do when the boys are so full of themselves they just name first son after them only adding Jr. to that


End file.
